What Remains
by Iona Nineve
Summary: Henry takes a trip to London (pre-series) . What he finds isn't exactly what he'd expected. One-shot


**Disclaimer:**

 **Author's Note: Random idea that wouldn't leave alone. Hope you enjoy.**

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What Remains

~1995; London, England~

Henry roamed the streets of a nearly unrecognizable city which he had lived in for many of his early years. He had returned to this, his land of origin, after much prodding from Abe to take a trip. And he had chosen here for the grounding he hoped it would provide.

He looked around, in search of something, anything familiar. He found it in a small redbrick church. It wasn't by any means the one he had attended as a child, that one had burned down during the 1850's, this one had been built in its place. He knew that if he followed the road eastward from the church he would eventually find himself at the beginning.

Walking down the street he passed house after house. This road had once been the outskirts of the city, nearly in the country, a few scattered grand georgian houses had grown to clusters of victorian homes; now the multitude of buildings had all been built in the last half century. He vaguely recalled, as he gaped with a disappointed sorrow, that this area had been hit hard by the Blitz.

Having walked a familiar, though long unaccustomed, distance his feet stopped him in front of a six-story office building. Just off the sidewalk a plaque, raised less than a foot off the ground read: On this spot stood the historic Morgan House, of the Morgan Shipping Company. Built 1740, stood until 1945.

He hadn't noticed the other man standing in front of the building, the man, however, had certainly noticed him. "Do you have an interest in historic buildings?" The man asked of Henry.

Momentarily taken aback by the question, Henry finally answered with the ease of a practiced liar. "Yes, indeed. I'm working on a paper concerning the lost buildings of London. Their histories and such."

"Well the Morgan House certainly had an interesting history. And quite tragic, you might say."

"In what way?" Henry asked, the story of the Morgan family was no mystery to him but he was curious as to how it had become memorable.

"It began with the second-to-last generation to live there. Of their four children, one survived to adulthood."

"That's not unusual, child fatality was very high during the Georgian period."

"You know your demographics. That's usually a shocking fact."

"Sorry for my interruption, please do continue."

"Circa 1810, the shipping company met with financial difficulties and joined the triangle trade, though Richard Morgan had previously expressed his hatred of the slave trade. In 1814 he died, outliving his wife by nearly a year. Shortly afterward his son, a doctor, was traveling to the West Indies on one of the family's slave ships, The Empress of Africa. He was presumed dead when the ship was lost at sea. The next year he resurfaced and returned to his grieving wife. Whatever happened during that time affected the man. Several months later he was sent to the Charing Cross Asylum. Then, having been moved to a prison, he hung himself with a sheet. But the story does not end here." He paused.

"Oh, please continue. It is very interesting." Henry prompted.

"fifty years later the Morgan widow, also fell prey to madness. She barged into a hospital insisting that a young doctor was her husband. There she shot a nurse who had stepped in front of the doctor. She died a few years later of pneumonia in prison.

"After her death the estate was put up for auction. Here is where the story gets weird. According to some of the older attendees of the auction several objects were bought by a young man with an uncanny resemblance to the late Dr. Morgan, the last master of the home. They say it was his ghost, that continued to haunt the house until its destruction." This last part of the story came as a surprise to Henry. He had been there, he hadn't thought he'd be recognized. And certainly he never thought he would become a ghost.

"Thank you, you've been very helpful." With that Henry walked away, perhaps a little too quickly, before the man could also recognize a similarity in appearance.

As he continued in his wanderings he arrived at the house that he and Abigail had lived in with Abe right after the war ended. It still stood, and had been renovated nearly past recognition.

What remained of the London he had known, in any of its eras was strikingly little. He momentarily marveled that one could yet find remnants of London as Shakespeare had known it, yet so little his world had survived.

Like so many of those who had left their homelands to start anew in the United States he had found a home in the land of new beginnings. And the thing with new beginnings is that the old one was left behind. Ultimately the world would continue to change, and he was going to return home.


End file.
